


Extracts from Confused Experience

by pencilguin



Series: The Other Mes Live With What They've Got [5]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Relationship, kinda hurt/comfort ping pong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-09-05 23:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20281879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pencilguin/pseuds/pencilguin
Summary: Confused and stranded in a strange city that seems to have everything against him, Paul is struggling to figure out what happened to him, and why he is feeling an unfamiliar hunger that is threatening to overwhelm him.Hugh encounters a new face in town, an unpredictable stranger who was recently turned and who might become a problem if Hugh doesn’t figure out what to do with him soon.





	1. Broken Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings, I guess, for some physical injuries, mentions of assault, and the usual vampire-related subjects.

Paul regains consciousness and immediately regrets it. He positively feels like shit, his head’s splitting and he’s feeling dizzy and nauseous. His head hurts, his neck hurts, his stomach… everything. He’s lying on the ground, cold and dirty and wet, the rain a mere dribble by now but enduring. Cuts and scrapes on his hands and arms aren’t exactly making it easier to get up from the ground, but slowly, he manages. He tries to wipe his dirty hands on his jeans and then rubs the crook of his neck, where a throbbing pain still persists. When he pulls his hand back, it’s smudged with blood — dark and old, the smell so intense it threatens to overwhelm his senses. He takes several deep breaths, first with his mouth tightly shut, then tentatively opens it to breathe deeper, and barely manages not to throw up.

He looks around and his vision is blurry, in an odd way; everything feels like it’s moving too fast, his perception catching and zooming in on every object and every detail, and his headache is amplified. It looks like the same dim alleyway that he last remembers being in, right before…

He squeezes his eyes shut and touches his forehead. He might have a concussion. Better find a hospital, probably. If only he knew where to find one. Slowly, carefully because of the layer of pain that seems to be covering his entire body and carpeting his insides, he leans back against the wall of the building behind him; old bricks and graffiti, the typical building style of areas like these.

The weather makes it hard to figure out what time it is. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t even feel sure about the day. Who knows for how long he had been lying unconscious on the ground? He feels for his pockets, sadly unsurprised to find them emptied. No money, no phone, no keys or ID or anything.

“Fuck.”

His voice is hoarse, weak. He has no idea how to get back home. Nevermind that “home” is a temporary concept for him right now anyway. Great first impression the city has made on him here.

Either way, anything is probably better than staying here and waiting to be attacked and mugged again, so he stumbles out of the alley, back into the slightly busier and much too noisy streets, to find… something, although what, he isn’t sure. A public bathroom to clean himself up, a dry place to sit, a police station, a hospital… _You don’t have an ID or money, though_, he reminds himself. Maybe start with the bathroom, then. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself, pulls the zipper up to his neck while regretting that he didn’t choose a hooded jacket for this trip, then he shoves his hands in his pockets and pulls his arms close to his sides, and starts to walk. Trying to ignore the cold and the pain and the fatigue. And the hunger — gaping, all-consuming, overwhelming hunger.

Paul really wishes he could get something to eat, maybe it would help against the roiling of his stomach, the dizziness that refuses to go away. All of his senses seem to have gone haywire, his eyes overreact to the light, his ears to any sound; the mere sensation of the chilling wind on his skin or even his clothes is almost burning in its intensity. There’s an odd taste in his mouth and what’s even worse is the smells, everything amplified by magnitudes that he wouldn’t have thought possible. The stench of a dumpster he passes by feels like a punch in the face, the spicy waft coming out of the open door to an Indian restaurant lays like a carpet over his sinuses. And everywhere among the crowds, the sweetest and most delicious smell he has ever encountered, but impossible to pinpoint.

After wandering around aimlessly for almost a day, no money for medical treatment, nor food, and a deep-seated distrust of the police, Paul is feeling at his wits’ end. He can feel himself getting grumpy and irritated and utterly hopeless. If he knew who to contact and ask for help, he would, but there is nothing and no-one here. After the death of his best friend, the loss of his job, the notice that he’d have to leave his old apartment, he’d packed up what little he had and put it in storage. Then, in an attempt to get a fresh start that didn’t sting constantly with memories of a better past, he had come here to look for a new place to live and to work. Much good it’s done him, he thinks bitterly.

He stumbles in his fatigue and accidentally bumps into an elderly man in a trench coat and business suit, before barely catching himself and grasping at a streetlamp so as not to lose his balance.

“Hey,” the man yells at him. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Why don’t you watch yourself?” he snaps back.

“Young drunks,” the man rambles, half to himself. “And in broad daylight…”

“Who are you calling drunk?” Paul threatens, his surging anger surprising himself, the spark of rage erupting in his chest feeling far out of proportion even to him, yet being unable to quench it. With too much force he shoves the man into the wall, distantly aware of how he crashes into it like a helpless doll, until Paul snaps out of it and realizes what he’s done. Fear rises in his chest, constricts his throat, and he dashes off, not looking back.

Several blocks later, where the street is a little quieter, he comes to a halt, slightly out of breath. _What was that?_ He’s never known himself to lash out, to get violent. He certainly can’t tell where that strength came from all of a sudden. His blood is pounding in his ears with a rush of adrenaline and fear. Deep, dark, all-consuming fear. With dread he recalls his emotions mere moments ago. How much he wanted to hurt that man… over nothing, really. The hunger and exhaustion must have begun to take their toll on him. And yet… It wasn’t mere anger. More of a bloodlust, something too dark and too terrifying to even consider. More and more, another emotion is taking control and threatening to overwhelm him: fear. Fear of himself.

The headache refuses to go away, and the rain is intensifying, soaking through his clothes, through his skin, into his very bones. He shivers. For all the water it pours over him, the rain does nothing to make him feel clean. The stench of his own blood has seeped into the collar of his jacket, and it’s about to drive him insane. He resumes walking and wanders into the next open café he comes across.

The inside looks warm, with its friendly lighting and interior. The place is busy with patrons, relaxed chatter and the scents of hot beverages and sugary desserts. And the omnipresent sweetness that Paul can’t identify. Vaguely though, he’s aware of something else, a presence that should keep him alert, but as he scans the room he can’t figure out what it is nor where it’s coming from, so eventually he quietly exhales and crosses the café to get to the bathroom.

It’s as cold and clinical as public bathrooms everywhere are, nondescript metal and white tiles, cold, artificial light under which everyone looks sick no matter how well they feel. And right now, Paul is feeling more dead than alive, and it definitely shows. He shudders involuntarily and averts his eyes from his own reflection.

He urinates and tries to wash himself, get the caked blood and dirt out of his clothes best as he can, attempts to dry his hair with the limited means the place offers him. Drinks tap water until it stops making his throat feel better. He wipes his face but it doesn’t help much.

After he’s done what he can, he stumbles back into the café’s main room, finds a small, empty table and sits down. Slowly, the warmth of the place seeps in, calms him at least a little, and his breath eases, for now. He keeps his eyes closed, drawing deep breaths, trying to clear his mind of anything. Maybe even of the headache. It doesn’t work.

“Good afternoon,” a friendly, female you voice says next to him, startling him out of his futile meditation. “Can I bring you anything?”

Paul squints at her, mind slowly catching up. She’s cute, with her long, blond hair falling down her shoulders in waves, make-up overstated just a little bit, her uniform fitting only almost perfectly. But she smells tired. Looks. _Looks_ tired, he corrects himself.

“No,” he mumbles. “No, thanks. Not at the moment.”

Her smile freezes.

“Okay,” she says, with a slight tilt of her head. “I’ll come back later.” Then she walks away.

Paul casts his gaze out the window, where the sight is bleak and increasingly gets darker by the minute. Night is falling, and the rain has picked up intensity, now accompanied by harsh gusts of wind that render any umbrella useless.

_Shithole city._

He regrets ever coming here.

His wandering thoughts end up spiralling, and eventually he realizes that his hands are shaking. So he pulls his eyes away and lets them wander across the room, taking in the other patrons around him.

The café is packed by now, lots of people seem to have chosen it to escape the rain and storm outside. Twenty-three tables, he notices for no particular reason. Only one of them beside his where only one person is sitting, and that man has coffee and a newspaper and is trying his best to appear innocuous and not draw attention to the fact that he is watching Paul. He tries to ignore him, but the feeling of having the man’s eyes on his neck is making him uncomfortable.

Something draws Paul’s attention away from him and towards the other people in here. Fifty-eight people in total, including the servers, excluding the lonely stranger and Paul. He’s not sure why he’s counting this way, or why he’s counting at all. He finds himself scanning the crowd yet can’t figure out what he’s searching for, but his insides clench as if they are going to devour themselves. There’s an insatiable desire threatening to overwhelm him, burning in every cell of his body, blinding him to everything else, and he’s going to lose his mind if he can’t figure out what it wants. He wonders if this is how drug addicts feel; except they know what it is that they need. The room starts spinning, his focus hopping from face to face, body to body.

_What? What? What!?_

Every single one looks too appealing, but he can’t figure out why. It must be something they have. Something they can give him. Touch? Affection? Understanding? Sex? Sleep? Sensations? Scents?

“Sir, I’m sorry to disturb you again.”

Taste?

“But if you’re not going to order anything, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

_No._

“We have other customers waiting.”

“_No!_”

Paul jumps up with the dreadful, horrifying revelation. Out of some disturbing impulse he grabs her arm and she shrieks in shock. In his peripheral vision several customers raise from their seats. The lonely stranger at his table, he notices within the fraction of a second, does not.

As if a jolt has gone through his body he drops the woman’s arm, backs off from the people approaching him, and runs out of the café, into the pouring rain.

In the mayhem he leaves behind, the stranger silently drops his payment on the table, gets up, and follows him outside.

***

Hugh’s eyes narrow as he catches sight of the pale man in the rainy dusk. Luckily the storm has calmed down, although the downpour has not. The scene in the café looked to have been a close call, but the guy’s behavior has been erratic, hard to predict, and Hugh doesn’t like that at all. It makes him dangerous.

From the moment he’d set foot in the café, Hugh knew what he was. That they’re alike. There’s the distinctly “fresh” air around him, though, that marks him as recently turned. If he’s being honest, Hugh hates young vampires. More often than not, they’re reckless and arrogant, not to mention dangerous in more ways than one. Even the best sire may struggle with them, and if they’re mediocre, or worse… Hugh sighs in frustration and accelerates his steps to catch up with the little rogue while trying to remain unnoticed.

At a narrow and mostly empty side street, he sees his chance and takes it. Grabs him by the collar and pulls him into the side street, where he slams him with his back against the wall unceremoniously.

Remarkably blue eyes glare at him from under lashes that are as pale as his hair, his strong jaw is clenched and his brows are furrowed. He struggles against Hugh’s grip — powerful, of course, but no match for Hugh.

“What—” he gasps. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Hugh asks with a low voice.

“I don’t know what — what you’re talking about.”

The stranger wriggles in his grasp, and Hugh responds by pushing him against the wall with more force, and stepping closer.

“You’re dangerous,” he growls. “I can’t let you roam freely. Now you better tell me what you’re up to, for your own sake.”

“I have—” He’s gasping for air now, and Hugh can feel him tremble, unsure what to make of it. “I have no idea who you are, or what you want.” He glares defiantly. “What, are you gonna assault me as well?”

Hugh freezes momentarily and stares at him, trying to make sense of his words. Is he playing dumb? He must know what Hugh is, must sense it. And he must be aware that Hugh knows about him. He recalls the surge of uncontrolled bloodlust he’d felt in the café for a moment, so overwhelming it was a miracle that none of the mortal humans there sensed it. Hugh knows that new vampires are prone to uncontrolled outbursts like that, but even to him with his centuries of experience, that one had been out of the ordinary.

But now? Now there’s not a hint of that anywhere around him. In fact, in his eyes Hugh can see nothing but confusion and fear.

“What are you talking about?” Hugh asks, but then the stranger lashes out and tries to hit him. Hugh manages to block him but he breaks free. Then it looks like he tries to attack Hugh again, maybe to fend him off — it’s not a very controlled or refined strike by any means; Hugh doubts that he had any training while he was still human. Hugh stops him and he stumbles, shaking, panting, before he suddenly collapses. Reflexively, Hugh catches him in his arms, dumbfounded. They remain like this for several seconds as Hugh waits for him to stir again, but he doesn’t.

_Great. What now?_

He definitely can’t stay here. That’d be far too dangerous. Not just for anyone else, but for himself as well. So what now? Dispose of him? Take him somewhere to be locked up? Hugh remembers his scared face, the helplessness in his eyes. And his words. _Are you gonna assault me as well?_ Hugh’s heart clenches.

_What did he mean? What happened to him?_ Hugh needs answers.

As the rain keeps pouring down around them, Hugh picks him up and carries him to his home.

It takes several hours before the pale man wakes up, and they are filled with a restless sleep in which he occasionally thrashes and turns, mumbles or whines in fear, maybe in pain. Hugh has tucked him into his own bed, after performing some vampire-specific first aid that will hopefully help him recover faster, and now he’s sitting next to him in an armchair, with a book in his hand that’s more of an alibi because again and again, his gaze wanders over to the stranger lying there before him as he loses himself in thought.

He looks rough, and anything but healthy. It makes Hugh wonder what he’s been through. He noticed the fresh bite marks in the crook of his neck when he took off his dirty and bloodstained jacket, they look fairly recent and poorly healed; if he was still human, he’d be at a serious risk of infection. Aside from his poor health, though, he’s … not unattractive, Hugh has to admit. By the looks of it, he seems to be around the same age Hugh was when he was turned. Hugh found no belongings on him other than the clothes on his back, and no identification whatsoever. Any questions he has will inevitably have to wait until the stranger wakes up.

Eventually, he stirs, slowly and intentionally, at last waking from his dreams, or nightmares. He rubs at his eyes as he sits up, before looking around the room, still clearly disoriented. When his gaze falls on Hugh, he flinches, and the panic flashes back into his deep blue eyes.

Hugh closes his book and smiles. “Hello,” he says softly.

The pale man narrows his eyes and purses his lips.

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Are you going to attack me again?” he asks suspiciously.

“Not unless you give me a reason to,” Hugh truthfully responds. “I’m Hugh Culber. You passed out in the street, so I took you here. This is my apartment.”

The stranger’s eyes flit across the room once more, lingering on the door behind Hugh for a second longer than anywhere else. Then they settle on him again, still unconvinced, it seems.

“Will you tell me your name?” Hugh asks patiently.

The stranger hesitates. “Paul,” he finally says. “Paul Stamets.”

Hugh smiles.

“Paul Stamets.” The name sounds good rolling off his tongue. “Thank you.”

Slowly, Paul nods, but he remains alert.

“How are you feeling?” Hugh asks him. He pulls his chair closer to the bed so he can face him properly.

“Like shit.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” There’s the calculating expression again, gauging whether or not he can trust him, Hugh assumes. “I’m a doctor,” he explains. “Maybe I can help.”

Paul still doesn’t seem entirely convinced. But he starts talking. “I have the worst headache of my life. My entire body hurts. I’m feeling dizzy and shaky, my senses are all off, and before I passed out I thought that I might throw up any minute. And I’m…” He hesitates.

“Yes?” Hugh asks gently.

“I’m… really… _really_ hungry.”

There’s something in his voice, in the way he bites his lip and drops his gaze and hunches his shoulders like he’s folding in on himself, that tells Hugh that he knows _exactly_ what Paul means.

“Okay,” he says patiently. “I’ll see what I can do about that in a moment. But first I need you to give me some answers. Who sired you?”

Paul looks up and blinks.

“Who what?”

“Sired.”

He furrows his brows and looks at Hugh with utter bewilderment, and there’s something really cute about it.

“Who turned you?” Hugh explains. This is starting to smell fishy, and he doesn’t like it.

“Turned me? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He lets out a frustrated sigh and grabs his own head with both hands. “I never should have come to this fucking city, everyone here is completely insane!”

A most disturbing suspicion is creeping into Hugh’s head. _Does he really not know?_

“Paul Stamets,” he begins very slowly, choosing his words carefully. It’s been a long time since he had to do something like this. “Do you know what you are?”

The uncomprehending stare he gets in response definitely answers that question. Hugh clears his throat.

“Paul… You have been turned into a vampire.”

Puzzlement makes room for disbelief.

“No offense, but are you on drugs?”

“No.” Hugh takes a deep breath while he considers how best to make him understand. He reaches out a hand and Paul flinches. “Please, may I?” he asks calmly. Paul relaxes, just a little bit. Gently, Hugh’s fingers touch the crook of his neck and his shoulders, where the puncture wounds are still red and clear against his pale skin. “You noticed these, didn’t you? They’re bite marks. _Fang_ marks. You were bitten by a vampire.”

Paul freezes, and Hugh sees something well up in his eyes. Remembering. Terror. Absentmindedly Paul lifts his fingers up to his neck now as well and traces the wounds there. The sight of his vulnerability hurts Hugh somewhere deep down in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“He…”

Hugh listens patiently, silently.

“I was walking down this gloomy alley on the way back from looking at an apartment… There were some — some people in the back, looking like they were up to no good. Then out of nowhere this man stepped out all of a sudden, and he… He said something I didn’t properly understand. Then he shoved me into a corner, I struggled to break free but couldn’t, he — he was inhumanely strong. We — we sort of got into a fight, I hit my head, I think against the wall… I think… I think he bit me, then. He…” He pauses. “I panicked and lashed out, grabbed a crumbled brick that was coming loose off the wall behind me and hit him with it. We struggled for a while and then I must have landed a blow and then… I think he ran away, and left me there.” Hugh watches him struggle as the memories come back to him. He fights down the urge to reach out and comfort him. “Then I started to feel sick and dizzy and I think I passed out. Someone else must have showed up while I was unconscious and emptied my pockets. When I woke up, I had no money, no ID, and no phone, and now I’m stuck homeless and alone in a city I don’t know,” he closes.

Hugh watches him sympathetically.

“You’re not alone,” he says reflexively.

Paul looks at him, his expression unreadable, but he doesn’t comment.

“That man who attacked you,” Hugh continues. “Who bit you — did he say anything? Did he talk to you? Do you know who he was?”

“No. Nothing.”

Righteous anger flares up inside Hugh’s chest, and he has trouble keeping his emotions in check so as not to scare Paul. As calmly as he can, he says, “This is horrifying. I am truly, genuinely sorry for what happened to you.” When Paul fixes him with his puppy eyes, he suddenly feels a lump in his throat. “I wish I could… I wish I could fix this, but I’m afraid I can’t undo the damage that has been done. But if you want it, I’ll offer you my help, and my guidance.”

“You’re a… a vampire, too,” Paul says quietly.

“Yes.”

He looks down, nods.

“While you were unconscious, I gave you a small transfusion of my blood,” Hugh explains. “That should have helped a little with the worst side effects, but we might need to repeat it.” He hesitates for a moment, thinking. “What you told me would explain a lot, actually, including why the side effects of your transformation were so strong.”

“I still don’t really understand what happened.” Paul’s voice sounds weak and small. He reaches for his head again. Hugh assumes it must be the headache still. “Why did he… turn me? Shouldn’t I have died?”

“I can only speculate, of course. The most generous assumption, though still awful, would be that he never intended to turn you. He just wanted to feed — sorry, I mean, he intended to drink your blood, which would have killed you. You must have gotten him when you fought back, or maybe he sensed some other danger and fled. You can’t turn anyone into a vampire without an — an exchange of blood, so to speak. You get bitten, the vampire drains your blood, and then feeds you their blood in return. The vampire blood enters your system and that completes the transformation. My guess is that he was injured in the fight, and that’s how you absorbed some of his blood by accident.”

Paul is still following his words intently, not saying anything.

“That’s why you didn’t die,” Hugh continues. “That’s why you were turned. But with such a small amount of his blood, your body is struggling to complete the transformation process, that must be why the side effects are so severe in your case.”

“So it’s not usually that bad?”

“It _is_ pretty bad. But your case seems to be one of the more extreme ones. And worst of all, you were on your own. No matter for what reason, siring a vampire and then abandoning them is completely unacceptable. He should’ve stayed and taken care of you. Explained everything. Guided you. Not leave you out there to die or wander around helplessly.”

“That’s a comfort to know,” Paul says sarcastically.

“I will see to it that the vampire who did this will be found and dealt with. Someone who acts this reckless is dangerous and can’t be allowed to roam freely. But I’m here for you, if you want.”

Again, he doesn’t get a response.

“If your side effects don’t wear off soon, you may need another transfusion. Then we’ll deal with what comes after that.”

“You told me you’re a doctor,” Paul says coldly. “But you’re a vampire.”

“That’s not a full-time job. I was a doctor before I was turned. And I still am.”

He swallows hard, staring into the distance, seemingly lost in thoughts.

“But you — you kill people. You _eat_ people. Or — or drink them or whatever. I…” He pauses. When he continues, his voice is hollow, more breath than words. “In that café I felt — felt something. Like an urge to…” His lip trembles and he covers his mouth with his hand. His voice comes out muffled. “I don’t want this. I can’t do this.”

Hugh reaches out a hand to place it on his other arm, but he flinches, stares at him with a mix of fear and disgust. It hurts, but Hugh can’t blame him. He’s been through this himself, long, long ago. Nowadays, turning someone without their consent is a gray area at best.

“There are options,” he explains calmly, “that are… somewhat more sanitary.”

“I don’t even wanna know what that means.”

Hugh watches him sadly and decides to drop the subject for now. He fears that, once withdrawal symptoms kick in, Paul will change his mind. They all do in the end.

“You said you’re homeless,” he continues instead. “You’re welcome to stay here for now, and if you want, I’ll help you find a place of your own, but it will likely take a while. Or if you prefer, I can get you a lift home to where you came from.”

“No point, really,” Paul remarks. “I had to move out there anyway.”

“Do you need anything else right now?”

He closes his eyes, thinks. For a moment, he looks almost serene.

“A shower would be nice.”

“Of course. I’ll put out towels and a toothbrush for you.” Hugh gets up. “Make yourself at home. I mean it. You’re my guest.”

Paul doesn’t respond.

***

Paul stands in silence as the warm water runs down his body. Eyes closed, trying to block out the sound, focus only on the feeling on his skin. Somehow it’s more clinical than before; he assumes that his heightened perception is one of the side effects of his new… condition. Still, the hot water sufficiently washes off the dirt and blood and some of the exhaustion, and slightly soothes his pain. When he’s done, he steps out and dries himself off. His reflection in the bathroom mirror catches his eye, and after an initial impulse of fear, he takes a closer look at it.

He’s always been pale, but despite the soft light in Hugh’s bathroom, it now looks even worse. Scratches and bruises are scattered across his skin, from his fight with the stranger, with Hugh, from falling to the ground. Seeing himself like this, seeing what he is now, makes him want to throw up.

_Dead_, is all he can think. _You’re dead, even if you’re still moving._ For some reason it’s easier to think of himself as a corpse than of something that’s no longer human. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to punch his reflection, shatter the mirror into a million pieces. He combs his hair and brushes his teeth. Moving his tongue around in his mouth he can feel how his canines have already changed to take on a pointy shape. He nearly retches at the realization.

Turning away from the mirror, he notices the pile of his old clothes on the floor, still dirty and tattered and damp. Perhaps he should have asked Hugh for a change of clothes. Deciding that he doesn’t care enough anymore, he leaves the pile behind, simply grabs a towel to wrap around his hips and walks out the door.

Unsure what to do with himself he starts to wander around Hugh’s apartment. It’s a nice place; modern, sleek interior, but with details making it comfortable enough to feel like a home rather than a photosession set. He finds Hugh in the last room he looks, sitting at his desk.

“I emailed some of my contacts about the vampire who attacked you,” he says upon hearing Paul’s footsteps, before turning around and blushing deeply, startled at the sight of Paul. “Oh — I’m sorry, I should’ve—” He scrambles up from his chair, clearly trying to avoid looking at him. It’s cute, Paul vaguely notices. “I should’ve given you a change of clothes, my bad…”

“What?” he asks sharply as Hugh tries to get past him through the doorframe. “You’re a doctor, I’m sure you’ve seen naked corpses before.”

Hugh freezes and stares at his face. He looks sad now.

“You’re not a corpse, Paul,” he says quietly.

“Well, I sure as hell ain’t alive.”

Hugh regards him sadly for a few more, silent seconds, before his blush creeps up again and he pulls his eyes away, then pushes past Paul and back into his bedroom. Paul follows him, watches him pull fresh clothes out of his closet and eventually hold them out to him.

As he accepts them he says, “There’s only one bed. Or do you sleep in a coffin?”

Hugh rolls his eyes.

“Of course not.” He still avoids looking at Paul. “I’ll take the couch.”

Paul watches him, thinking. Hugh looks nothing like he’d have imagined a vampire to look. If he’s paler than he was while he was alive, his brown skin isn’t showing it. Soft warm eyes, full lips, an impressive physique as far as Paul can tell, a calm and oddly comforting demeanor despite their situation that indicates great bedside manner. Nothing about him seems threatening right now, and Paul is starting to get used to the aura he can sense from him, to feel less wary in his presence. He seems genuinely willing to help. And he’s hot. Paul considers his situation. His whole life has been turned upside down within the last twenty-four hours or so, cut him off from his entire past. What has he got to lose? He’s already dead.

_Oh, what the hell._

“You don’t have to,” he says softly. “If you don’t want.” He sits down on the bed, his eyes still on Hugh.

Hugh licks his lips, probably subconsciously, and takes a few tentative steps towards him.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Hell, if I know.”

Hugh lets Paul pull him down and kiss him.

***

Paul’s more straightforward than he expected, after all. And less straight than he’d feared. Still, Hugh decides to call on his higher brain functions and act responsibly.

“Paul,” he whispers after they break apart. His hand lingers on Paul’s cheek as they both open their eyes. “Look, I’m not… averse to this. Not at all. And I’m — I’m glad to know you’re interested.”

Paul frowns at him. _Cute._ Hugh’s mouth twitches into a smile.

“But right now it’s not a good idea.” He sits down by Paul’s side, puts his hand on top of Paul’s on the bed. “You don’t want to overwhelm your body, and that’s definitely what would happen. Take it slow for now. Adjust to this first.”

Paul tilts his head. _Even cuter._

“Overwhelm?”

“You’re still unwell. And getting used to your newly heightened senses.”

“Sounds… interesting, though,” Paul comments, raising his eyebrows.

Hugh chuckles.

“Don’t worry, they’re not going anywhere. And neither am I.” On a fond impulse, he kisses Paul’s forehead. He seems surprised by the soft gesture, staring at Hugh with adorably wide eyes. “Besides… vampire sex can get pretty intense, physically _and_ mentally. Until you’ve at least somewhat made peace with your new situation, I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He tilts his head again, seems to consider Hugh’s words. A taste of sadness creeps back into his features, and Hugh almost regrets putting it there, reminding him of his new horrors.

Hugh gets up from the bed. “Let’s take this one step at a time. I’m sure you still have a lot of questions. I’ll answer them to the best of my abilities. Now — get dressed or don’t, that’s up to you. If you need me, I’ll be in the living room.” With these words he leaves, offering Paul some space.

***

Paul’s eyes follow Hugh as he walks out. His cheeks feel hot — flustered and touched by his concern. It’s beginning to sink in how lucky he must have been that Hugh found him. His presence has already made Paul’s situation feel marginally more manageable. After some consideration, he decides to get dressed, then follows Hugh.

He lightly knocks on the open living room door to make his presence known, then wonders if that was necessary at all. Surely Hugh must have heard him even so, the rustling of his soft, comfortable clothes, the padding of his bare feet on the solid floor. Still, when Hugh looks at him, he smiles.

“Hey,” Paul begins. “Can I get some of those answers you promised?”

Hugh scoots over to make room for him on the couch.

“Of course.”

He listens and learns and asks, all the while drinking in Hugh’s patience and kindness. Inquires about what he can do and can’t do now. (Superhuman speed, strength, perception and reflexes: yes. Flying, transforming into a bat, telekinesis, mind reading or mind control: no.) What could kill him, how to not draw suspicion.

“You’ll find yourself naturally gravitating towards a cooler climate now. And you don’t handle a lot of sunlight too well, so be careful.”

“Oh, really?” Paul comments dryly. “Now _that’s_ gonna be a new experience.” Hugh just smiles at him. Paul hesitates before continuing with his next question. “What about food? Normal… human food?”

“It’s unnecessary for us, and kind of useless. Some vampires say they no longer taste anything, while others swear that they do. But your body can’t gain any nutrients from it. It’d just fill you up, and eventually exit your body unused, of course. Seems like a waste to me.”

Paul sighs sadly.

“I love good food.”

This gets him a sympathetic look from Hugh. He doesn’t want to ask the next question. Hugh seems to sense it.

“You can’t sustain without blood,” he quietly explains. “Human blood, specifically.” Paul feels a lump in his throat. “You may or may not be able to go some time without it, but not indefinitely. And the less you consume, the weaker you will be, and the slower your injuries will heal.”

“I… I _can’t_ do this.”

He can feel Hugh’s sympathetic gaze on him.

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s… tough. But you… you get used to it. We all do. And believe me — it’s not the same. The way you remember the taste of blood — it will be completely different from now on.”

“You don’t realize how fucked up this is, do you?” Paul retorts coldly. “I don’t know for how long you’ve been — you’ve been doing this, but it’s _sick_. I can’t _feed on_ other humans!” Bile is welling up in his throat again. He tries to swallow it down. The mere thought of it is repulsive. “I’ve been a vegetarian for nearly all my life,” he mumbles. “And now I’m supposed to resort to cannibalism?”

“It’s not like you have to go hunting.” Hugh seems to be trying to reassure him. It’s decidedly not working. “There are blood banks, you know. That’s where a lot of us get our food — me included. And some… some humans in the know offer up their blood, in small amounts, of course, that aren’t life-threatening.”

For a moment Paul imagines biting into someone else’s flesh and sucking their blood. He quickly covers his mouth, trying his best not to throw up.

“I’m sorry,” Hugh says quietly.

Paul just shakes his head, signaling him to move on.

“Animal blood is a poor substitute that can help temporarily, if there are no other options. But it’s not suitable for a long-term diet. You definitely can’t sustain on that alone,” he closes.

Paul says nothing. He feels Hugh’s eyes on him again, undoubtedly filled with concern, waiting for him to respond, to say something else. He remains sitting as he is, his legs drawn close and his arms hugging around them, making the smallest, most compact, and especially most comforting form he is capable of.

“Do you want to know anything else?” Hugh asks eventually. He reaches out and lightly touches Paul’s shoulder, making him flinch. Right now, the thought of what Hugh is and what he does to survive is too raw, too present in his mind, and he recoils. Hugh lets his hand sink down. At this moment, Paul can’t bring himself to feel bad about his rejection.

He also hates that Hugh is the only one around for comfort — something he could really use right now. But there’s no one else here. Nobody he knows would understand, nobody he can think of would be any kind of company he could use, in fact. He is utterly alone, and there is no way back to the life he had, to the way things used to be. Whether he likes it or not, this kind, fellow monster is the only one he has. A shaky sob escapes his mouth.

“What am I going to do now?” he asks quietly. “With myself? With my life?”

“What _were_ you going to do?”

“Find a new job, and a new home.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a faint smile play around Hugh’s lips.

“You can still do that. You can still live a mostly regular life.”

Slowly, thinking, Paul nods. While the splitting headache from before has slowly subsided, another, duller one seems to now be taking its place. He almost welcomes it because it feels more familiar.

***

“It’s late,” Hugh says after a while, breaking the silence between them. “You’ve had a lot to process. Maybe try to rest now.”

Paul shuffles without responding, slowly unknotting his limbs on the couch.

Hugh hesitates before he adds, “If you still want to share the bed, I can join you for comfort, if you like. Or not, if you’d rather be alone.”

He appears to be considering his options. At last he just says, “Share.”

A couple of feet apart at first, Paul eventually reaches out for Hugh, and in the end he even curls against his side. Though colder than a normal human body, of course, there is still a little warmth in the contact. He also smells really nice, Hugh notices.

With deep breaths in and out, Hugh feels himself calm. Tomorrow, if Paul feels up for it, they’ll arrange for his affairs to be sorted out; get a police report filed, request new documents and make any necessary phone calls. Hopefully, with a little more assistance from Paul, Hugh’s contacts will be able to track the vampire responsible for all of this down soon. And then … His stomach clenches uncomfortably. At some point, they _will_ have to deal with the blood issue.

“What do you know about our need for blood?” Paul’s slightly muffled voice surprises Hugh. He’d believed him to be asleep. “Why does it have to be human blood? What components make it so special?”

“I don’t know much, I’m afraid,” Hugh responds truthfully. “Why do you ask?”

“There must be another way.” The determination is now loud and clear in his voice. “I refuse to accept this.”

Bemused, Hugh decides to humor him.

“What do you want to do about it?”

“I have to figure out what it is that we need. Maybe I can find a suitable substitute. We could even be able to synthesize it.” In the dark of the room, Hugh sees him tilt up his head and fix him with his eyes. “I’m a scientist. I can do this. I _will_ figure this out.”

Hugh can’t help but smile.

“I believe in you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Cygfa for the feedback and of course for the initial idea, and to @tincanspaceship for beta reading! 
> 
> This AU idea really swept me away, and although I can't promise anything yet, I might revisit it again in the future. For now, though, this is a standalone one-shot.


	2. Degenerated Idealism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Allusions to suicide, as well as something that, while it wasn't intended that way, I realized can probably be interpreted as a parallel to eating disorders. 
> 
> I promise the second half of this chapter has more comfort and less hurt.

It’s been well over a week now since Hugh found Paul, and he still hasn’t eaten. Increasingly, Hugh despairs at his stubbornness. It would be admirable, in all honesty; his resolution to uphold his morals, to not give in to the temptation of stealing another human’s life juices — if only it wasn’t so hard to watch. Because Paul is withering away, ashen skin, dark circles under his eyes, looking thin and dry and brittle, physically weak and shaking. He doesn’t speak much. Hugh hasn’t dared to leave the house in the last two days, too worried about Paul to leave him alone. What he would do, should worse come to worst, he doesn’t know. He’s not going to force Paul to eat, that’s the last thing he wants. But he keeps trying to persuade him. Paul usually recoils, silent aside from the occasional quiet whimper.

After he steps out of the shower and loosely gets dressed, he finds Paul sitting curled up on the couch. As usual. He’s hugging himself tightly, his face looks smudged with old tears. Inwardly, Hugh sighs, and then sits down next to him — close; close enough to offer his comfort if Paul wants it, but with the handbreadth between them to give him enough space if he doesn’t. He’s been quiet lately, and hasn’t come on to Hugh since that one time. Though he does like to snuggle up at night.

Hugh’s not sure if they can call this “progress” — he notices that the blood bag he put on the coffee table in front of Paul this morning is now clutched in his hands. Still unopened, of course. He’s staring at it, but at the same time a million miles through it.

“Where are you?” Hugh asks softly. Paul’s eyes flicker over to him for a split second. There’s a light stubble on his face now, Hugh notices, almost invisible in the gray light that the rainy weather is letting in through the wide windows. His lips are dry and chapped, and also trembling.

He doesn’t respond. So they sit in silence.

Occasionally, Paul’s eyes focus on the bag in his hands, or he squeezes it, undecidedly. Then he stills again, aside from the shivering. Every time, his face looks a little more harrowed.

“Look,” Hugh says after an agonizing eternity. “I said I’d be there for you, and I’m here now. Please… just talk to me. It’s okay. Tell me what you’re thinking and feeling. Maybe… maybe it’ll help.”

Paul glances at him, without turning his head. Eventually, staring ahead again, he says, “I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

“It’s… I just can’t.”

“Why?”

A quick glare. He doesn’t seem to enjoy the inquiries. Hugh doesn’t budge.

“You’re gonna die if you don’t,” he says quietly.

Paul’s silent for a long moment.

“Then so be it.”

It stings, somewhere close to Hugh’s heart.

“You don’t have to answer this question if you don’t wish to. But… Were you suicidal before you were turned?”

“No.”

Hugh watches him. Thinks.

“I get that you’re conflicted. But I’m afraid this is your best option. It’s … I mean, this is probably the least problematic option I can offer you for now. It was given voluntarily. No-one was hurt for this. And this amount should last you a while, too.”

“It wasn’t intended for me, though,” Paul quietly responds. “People donate blood to help other humans. To save lives. I… I don’t deserve this.”

Hugh stares at him, lips pursed.

“Let me ask you a question,” he finally says. “If a human gets injured and needs a blood transfusion to survive, would you think that person wouldn’t deserve this because it could potentially save someone else’s life instead?”

“That’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a monster.”

That stings, too. Maybe even more so.

“Paul, listen to me. I can’t force you to drink this. But no matter what you now think, or don’t think, of yourself... please don’t make me watch you die.”

Paul looks at him now. _Really_ looks at him. Hugh can’t decipher the emotions crossing his face, but eventually they seem to settle on something sad.

Very quietly he says, “Okay.” It sounds utterly defeated, and Hugh’s heart breaks a bit.

With shaking fingers, he moves the blood bag towards his mouth, but Hugh gently takes it from him, touching his shoulder reassuringly with his other hand.

“I’ll get you a glass.”

Paul’s eyes follow him into the kitchen, and then back. He leans forward slightly, shifting his legs, as he accepts the glass full of blood Hugh offers him, wraps both hands around it. Agonizingly slowly, he lifts it to his mouth, but then pauses again. Hugh watches him in silence, trying to keep his own face as neutral as possible.

Eventually, Paul closes his eyes and takes a small sip.

Hugh watches as he appears to push the liquid around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing concentratedly. As he opens his eyes again, his face takes on a pondering expression. Hugh looks at him expectantly, slightly raises his eyebrow, waiting for Paul to speak. He doesn’t. Instead, he raises the glass again.

After several successive gulps this time, he lowers it and his expression is slightly more curious than before. Some of the sadness seems to have subsided, although Hugh wonders if it will stay away for long. There’s some blood smudged on his lips now and in the corner of his mouth, a tiny droplet trickling down. The stark contrast between the deep red and his pale skin manages to startle Hugh. He has to fight back a very sudden and almost overwhelmingly strong impulse to lean in and kiss Paul, lick the blood off his face, to—

Paul raises the glass one more time and empties it. Hugh shakes his weird impulses off with a jerk of his head like a fly, and carefully takes the glass out of Paul’s still shaking hands when he’s done. The tip of Paul’s tongue flicks out momentarily, catching some of the blood smudged on his face. It’s incredibly distracting.

For a while, Paul just stares ahead in silence. His face looks oddly frozen, but Hugh can tell that there’s a storm roiling beneath the surface.

“Paul?” he asks, softly, trying his best not to scare him off.

No response.

Then, Paul twitches, and in a sudden motion gets up from the couch. With a quiet voice that sounds oddly high-pitched and choked, he mutters, “I’d like to be alone.” Then he hurries out of the living room, and moments later, Hugh hears the bedroom door fall shut.

After staring at the spot where Paul left for a few more long seconds, Hugh sighs and closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the sofa.

_They all change their minds in the end._

Why does it feel as if he just tarnished something precious?

Hugh honors Paul’s request, and he doesn’t see him for the rest of the day, although he hears the bedroom and bathroom doors once in a while. He spends the night on the couch, lying awake for a long time without falling asleep because his thoughts keep gravitating towards Paul and, in the same vein, to his own past.

The following day, as eleven o’clock passes, he eventually finds himself in front of his bedroom door, unsure if he should knock and carefully ask Paul if he’s okay or if there’s anything he needs. The moment he raises his fist, however, the door opens.

Paul looks slightly taken aback at suddenly being face to face with Hugh, but only for a moment. Hugh takes in his sight. His wounds are healed and he looks healthier, but only physically. With no small amount of relief, however, he notices the same air of stubbornness and defiance still in his eyes, that spark of humanity which he feared for so much. He can’t help the smile that forms on his lips.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Paul responds, voice quiet but neutral.

“How are you feeling?”

“I really wish I could have a normal breakfast.”

The smile widens. Hugh steps aside and then follows Paul as he walks into the living room. He sits down next to the windows and looks outside. It takes a while before he speaks.

“I’ll never get used to it. And I refuse to admit defeat.” Hugh watches him curiously as he talks. “I got a killer headache from the blood until this morning. If this is going to be my life now, I’ll try to limit my consumption as much as I can. Until I’ve found an alternative.” He sounds entirely sure, and Hugh can’t not be convinced that he’s going to succeed. Gosh, he— 

There’s a word at the tip of his tongue, but he can’t bring himself to say it yet.

Paul turns his head now to look at him.

“I’m sorry you had to sleep on the couch.”

Hugh shakes his head.

“It’s fine. I get it.”

“I…” Paul hesitates, looks down. Pulls his legs up on his chair. “Thank you, Hugh, for everything you’ve done for me. Sorry for making things difficult for you.” He’s blushing a little and Hugh’s heart flutters fondly. He sits down on the edge of his sofa to face Paul directly.

“I _want_ to do this, Paul.” He puts a hand on top of Paul’s. “I’ve lived for centuries. These past few days with you have been a welcome diversion from the monotony of immortality. Not that I wasn’t enjoying my life right now,” he adds. “But I’m also enjoying your company.”

Paul smiles shyly, and it’s the softest expression Hugh has seen on him so far, and the most beautiful one.

“And to be honest, my own sire…” Hugh continues. “Let’s say they weren’t great. It was pretty hard for me. And I’ll do what I can to spare anyone else that struggle and pain.”

Paul’s smile turns sympathetic. For a while they sit in comfortable silence, until he speaks again.

“Hugh?”

“Hm?”

“I’m… enjoying your company, too.”

Hugh smiles warmly and squeezes his hand.

“You said that you’d help me find an apartment.”

“Yes, if you want me to.”

“But… would it be okay if I stayed with you for a while? I…” He bites his lip. “I don’t think I could stand being all by myself just yet.”

“Of course,” Hugh says immediately, inwardly excited by the idea. It may be selfish, but he doesn’t want to let go of Paul yet. “Stay as long as you wish.”

“Thank you. But I’d like to find a lab where I can work on my new project.”

“I’m sure we can find something.” Now Hugh looks out the window, pondering. “Maybe we can work on this together. I’m a doctor, after all. Some vampires may think it’s sacrilege, but… to be honest, I’m hoping you’ll succeed. I can’t wait to never need human blood again.”

Hugh wonders if his bitterness shone through when he notices Paul turn his palm upwards and squeeze his hand in return now, smiling at him sadly. He smiles back and shakes his head.

“Hey, how are you feeling today? I could use some fresh air. Do you wanna join me on a walk? I could show you around town a bit, prove to you that not everything here sucks, despite the terrible first impression we made on you.”

Paul’s face lights up.

“I would love that.”


	3. Exploration of Superficial Cannibalism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for somewhat graphic description of drinking blood.

Despite Paul’s protests and concerns and repeated complaints of “Do we really have to do this?” Hugh sits him down so they face each other. They’re on the bed, because Hugh argued that it’s easier to change the bedsheets if something goes wrong and they make a mess than it would be to get the stains out of his couch. And because he wants Paul to be as comfortable as possible for this, and the level of comfort the kitchen table can provide probably won’t be sufficient for something as serious as what they’re about to do. Paul had agreed.

“Relax,” Hugh says, probably subconsciously slipping into a soft but firm doctor’s voice, and lets his hand slide off Paul’s shoulder and down his right arm in a comforting gesture.

Paul closes his eyes and takes a couple of deep breaths, letting his shoulders slack. “Okay. I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”

“You set the pacing for this,” Hugh reassures him. “If it gets too much, we can stop anytime. And I’m here, I’ve got plenty of experience.” He seeks Paul’s eyes, an inquiring smile on his face.

Hesitantly, Paul at last smiles back, although he’s still weary and nervous. He’s sitting cross-legged, wearing one of Hugh’s t-shirts that has become his favorite and fits him loosely, and a pair of shorts, his hands still a little fidgety in his lap. Eventually, he shifts his position, hesitantly drawing closer to Hugh, who’s put on a simple tank top that provides free access to his neck.

Paul timidly leans forward towards the crook of Hugh’s neck, before pausing and slowly pulling back again. The subconscious fidgeting returns.

“Take your time,” Hugh reiterates with an encouraging smile. Paul glances up at his face and smiles nervously. He puts his hands on either of Hugh’s upper arms, to steady himself, or them both. “Take in all of the sensations; it’s an important part of this experience.”

Paul halts again and mutters toward Hugh’s collarbone, with a hint of amusement, “This feels like a guided meditation.”

The corners of Hugh’s mouth twitch upwards. “I’ll only keep talking if you want me to.”

Paul takes a moment to consider it. “Yeah… Actually, that would be nice.” After another pause, he adds, “Your voice is calming.”

“Okay. Sure.”

He leans in again, bringing his face close to Hugh’s skin, but without touching it. He lingers, with his eyes closed, and takes a few deep, slow breaths, letting the scent fill his lungs. Hugh’s scent. It’s as sweet and alluring as always, and normally he would love to do nothing more than to dive in, cover it with kisses, savour the delicious taste of Hugh’s skin, and they’d let themselves get carried away by their mutual affection and desire.

But today is not about that. Today is about _feeding_.

Paul shivers involuntarily as he remembers the purpose of this exercise.

“It’s okay. It’s me.” Hugh seems to read him effortlessly. “Safe for practice.”

Paul chuckles briefly, but he feels himself relax a little more. Slowly, he brings his face closer to the crook of Hugh’s neck.

“Try to tilt your head a little bit. The angle is important; it’ll also make it easier to find the blood vessel.”

“How do I recognize the right spot?” he asks, and his breath raises small goosebumps as it travels over Hugh’s bare skin.

“Focus; rely on your heightened senses,” Hugh says calmly, his voice still surprisingly neutral for the situation, Paul thinks. He’s getting increasingly nervous again himself. After a pause, Hugh adds more quietly, “It will be easier with mortal humans.”

Paul freezes. Hugh’s hand finds his back and slowly moves up towards his shoulder blades, the gesture calming and comforting, grounding him again. He feels some of the tension seep out of him.

“Sorry,” Hugh almost whispers. “Try to just focus on this here for now.”

_Easier said than done_, Paul thinks. He remembers Hugh explaining to him why they have to do this, like _this_.

_“I do think it’s important that you drink blood from a mortal, at least once. If you don’t want to do it again afterwards, that’s fine. But for the sake of safety, you’ll need to practice first. The best way to do that is with me. You don’t wanna hurt someone by accident because you don’t know what you’re doing.” _

_“You could just demonstrate it to me first? So I’ll have a better idea of how to do it? The time I was turned is kind of a blur.” _

_Hugh’d looked at him for a long time without saying anything, clearly struggling to find the right words. _

_“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I think, especially for you in particular, Paul, your first proper experience of the act should be from this end.” _

Paul hadn’t questioned his words then, the sincerity with which Hugh spoke to him convinced him to agree to his method. But now he’s still nervous.

The scent of Hugh’s neck so close is making his head spin, and it’s hard to keep away the memories of intimacy that drift to the surface of his mind as he breathes it in. He tries to remind himself that there’s nothing sexy about drinking human blood straight from the vein, although his body doesn’t quite seem to agree. _Just because this is Hugh…_ Should he have asked to practice with someone else? No, definitely not. It’s difficult enough with Hugh, he can’t imagine doing it with some random stranger.

At this distance, Paul can clearly hear the blood flowing along Hugh’s neck underneath his skin; soft, sensitive, delicious skin… yes, he’s already intimately familiar with this spot.

“Remember what I told you,” he hears Hugh’s calm voice close to his ear, making his skin tingle. He drags his tongue over the length of Hugh’s carotid, slowly, feeling the pulse under it. Then he digs in his teeth. The sharp fangs sink into soft skin effortlessly, slice open the artery, allow the blood to flow freely. It’s wet and warm and both the smell and the flavor are overwhelming. Even though he should’ve known what’s coming, the moment takes Paul by surprise, and some of the blood gushing out spills over Hugh’s skin and on Paul’s face; reminiscent of biting into a large, ripe tomato that spits its juices everywhere. For a moment, Paul loses all composure.

“S-sorry…”

He let go but that was clearly the wrong thing to do, because now more blood keeps coming. Hugh’s comforting hand on his back quenches his panic, though, and he lowers his head back down to the spot where his fang marks are still prominent and stained bright red. For a moment he tries to focus his senses and his mind, breathes in, and has to fight maybe even harder now not to be overwhelmed again. But Hugh’s training exercises are proving helpful.

The smell of vampire blood is unmistakably different from that of mortals, and not just because this is fresh rather than out of a bag. It’s still delicious and Paul suspects that it’s in no small part due to whose it is, the connection between the scent of Hugh’s blood and of his body clear as day to him with his heightened senses.

He tries to refocus again, reminds himself what he’s doing here. Hugh being a vampire lowers his inhibitions significantly, and so he dares to stick out his tongue and drag it over the trail of blood on Hugh’s neck.

Of course it’s not nutritious to him in the way that mortal blood is, he can even _taste_ the fact, but fuck, if it isn’t intoxicating. Emboldened by the first taste, he covers the wound he’s left with his lips again and begins to suck from it. He’s not sure if it’s purely due to Hugh’s hand rubbing his back encouragingly, but something about this goes beyond just the physical; a sense of connection, a bond he can feel between them, like the blood flowing through both of them in a linked system, a transfer of spiritual energy. All kinds of ridiculous, unscientific thoughts. Excitement bubbles inside him until it overflows; he can no longer stop himself, and Hugh’s pulse picks up as well under his tongue, his breath quickens. Without realizing it he dives in further, forcing Hugh to steady himself with one arm against the mattress so he doesn’t stumble backwards, his other hand moving up from Paul’s back and gripping his hair tightly, and he fails to suppress a moan of the kind that Paul has heard from him in this room before. This is what helps Paul refocus on the moment and realize what they’re doing, and he pauses again. Remembering what Hugh taught him before, he pulls himself together and starts gently licking over the marks of his fangs, nudging the skin to heal itself and the wound to close up. After a while, blood stops flowing out. The puncture marks are still there, and the mess he’s made is still smudged all around them, has stained Hugh’s tank top and, he’s sure, is spread all across his own face right now as well.

Slowly, almost in a state of trance, he sits back and raises his head. His cheeks are burning with remarkable heat, considering the fact that he is more dead than living, and there’s an ocean of conflicting feelings whirling around in his stomach, but one of them sinks to the bottom, heavy like lead.

Hugh exhales deeply, slowly, as he cups his cheek. Wide pupils, shortness of breath, a flush on his own cheeks that travels along his neck even past the irritated spot that Paul has worked on, and down to his chest. _What a sight._ Hugh’s expression is complex, but the affection is unmistakable, as is the lingering desire.

It takes Paul forever to find his speech. “That was…” He swallows. “Woah.”

“It’s a lot. I understand.” Hugh starts rubbing his thumb over Paul’s cheek. His eyes flicker over the smudged blood stains Paul can feel on his own skin. “If it helps you, we can talk about it.”

“I…” Paul tries to put his feelings in words, starting a few times but always faltering. He reflexively licks his lips, remembers the blood. Even now, it’s still mesmerizing.

Hugh slowly moves forward for what Paul expects to be a kiss, but instead, he starts licking the blood off Paul’s cheeks, his chin, even the tip of his nose, and finally off his lips, before kissing him. Paul just sits there in silent amazement, and after reciprocating the kiss, stares at Hugh with a bit of puzzled curiosity.

“Sorry.” Hugh’s voice is as quiet and gentle as his smile. “But that was a little too distracting.”

Paul tilts his head inquiringly.

“Red looks good on your pale skin, you know,” Hugh mutters. “Especially… knowing that it’s mine.”

Paul thinks about his words. Trying to imagine their roles reversed sends a pleasant tingle along his skin. “Should I be concerned by how much this turns me on?” he mutters slowly.

Hugh’s hands find his upper arms, comforting him with touch. “It’s kind of the point, you know, of being a vampire. That this feels good.”

“I’m… just so conflicted. I mean… this is you, okay, that’s different. But it’s terrifying.”

“I know.”

In Hugh’s eyes Paul can see it, the depth of his understanding. He remembers Hugh insisting on doing it this way first, and it makes sense now. He knows that Hugh shares his moral dilemma.

“I don’t want to enjoy drinking people’s blood.”

Hugh seems to choose his words carefully. “It… does feel pleasant, I can’t deny that. And that can clash with how you rationally feel about the concept. But, at least in my experience, it’s also not like _this_, usually. Not quite.” Now Hugh’s the one who tilts his head to the side, just a bit, and with a little smile that manages to be incredibly reassuring.

“Because of us?”

Hugh nods. Paul realizes he’s been holding his breath and exhales quietly.

“I’m a little overwhelmed and… scared, I guess, by how intense this was.”

The smile turns into a grin. “See why I wanted to take our time now?”

Paul chuckles. “Yeah.”

“If you feel confident in exploring this further together, we can do that. But I do think you should practice some more. This amount of blood loss would be dangerous for a mortal.”

Paul swallows and nods slowly. “Of course. I don’t want to harm anyone.”

“So,” Hugh asks with an encouraging smile, “First practice, and then some more fun exploring?”

At last, Paul feels confident to return it. “Sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @DanceWithMeForScience for beta reading this! 
> 
> I have an idea for at least one more chapter, but can't say yet when that's going to happen. April is Camp NaNo month, and I've got a project planned for that!


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